


One two epiphany

by orphan_account



Series: By the sweet and short I know you [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Connor Anderson, Dogs, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Human!Connor, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Role Reversal, android!hank, former connor/ofc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 11:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15581220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's very easy to pry apart the surface of somebody else's life when you don't have one of your own.





	One two epiphany

As soon as they get in the car Connor turns on his Cypod and flicks to a playlist called ‘Let’s not get a ticket for negligent driving’, and the car is filled with erratic drums and inhuman guttural sounds at an ear-piercing level. After a few minutes of driving Connor turns it down enough that he can actually ask Hank a question.

“do you like music Hank?” Connor doesn’t look at him, his eyes are firmly on the road, but his head tips a little bit towards Hank as he asks. The street lights are running over his face in waves, together with the slight light from the dashboard and the car's touchscreen it creates a sort of cozy intimate feeling. They are surrounded by darkness and a few dim spots of light. 

“I’ve never listened to any, but I can tell that yours is trash” Hank says frankly. He doesn’t actually think it’s trash, the music is very energetic, but he would like something calmer right now, to settle him down after tonight. But Connor is obviously trying not to fall asleep at the wheel, he could have asked Hank to drive, but he didn’t.

Connor laughs “well you should find out, check my playlists see if you can find something you like” Hank leans over to take the pod out of its dock and rifles though the playlists, there are quite a few, and Connor seems to have quite an eclectic music taste. From noise rock to soft instrumental pieces, though those don’t have that many plays. He wonders what kind of music he likes, that’s what Connor asked him to find, something that appeals to him. 

He settles on more in the metal genre, it’s the first music genre he’s heard, and he liked it well enough. Though he picks one with more actual beat than the hodgepodge of sounds Connor had turned on.

They settle to listen to it in silence, Hank counts the water droplets on the windshield, 458.

Connor Anderson lives in one of those depressing, poured out of a cement mixer, mass building projects that were constructed somewhere around 1980’s were people weren’t concerned with such things as, view, or appealing design. Great blocky monolithic structures made out of one-part depression and one-part apathy.

They haven’t actually made it to Connor’s block yet when his phone vibrates somewhere against the windshield. Connor fishes it out with one hand, pushing away a box of expired dog treats and a crumpled parking ticket. He unlocks it without looking away from the road and throws it into Hanks lap.

“see who it is Hank, who ever is texting this late, can’t be up to anything good”

There are a number of texts lined up in his tray, but Connor seems to be one of those people who thinks letting people have their proper name in his contacts is for losers or people who severely lack imagination.

The most frequent texter is ‘Gay Raccoon’ most of them are left unread, or the person texts so much that they just pile up, 34 unread texts, but none of them recent.

‘Always asks to change shifts’ has sent Connor a picture of a cow with a bucket on its head, there are several picture exchanges but no words. Hank transfers one of the pictures, of a long coated friendly looking dog to his own memory.

‘Better than coffee’ asks when Connor will be arriving home.

And ‘Once cried because he swallowed gum’ is angrily texting Connor to pick up the phone, followed by name calling. The person has called 6 times in close succession.

He relays the most urgent one first, and Connor’s entire face wrinkles like its trying to gather all its features in the middle, it looks uncomfortable. “Urgh, my brother, if he calls just ignore it, I think I put it on auto reject after our fight last week, but he’s incapable of letting anything go, the stubborn prick.”

“what was the other one?” Connor asks.

“Better than coffee?” 

“oh!” Connor lights up like it’s Christmas.

“that’s Melissa, did she say anything else”

Hank scrolls through the texts “she’s waiting at your apartment, apparently something is wrong with Kennet?” Connor’s fingers drums on the wheel in an unsteady rhythm, agitated, but not overly worried “Yeah, yea, Kennet is my son, he’s..” Connor pauses, sighing “there’s always problems” He looks over at Hank, a little embarrassed, “you probably don’t know how it is with kids”

Hank really doesn’t, but something in him would love to find out, maybe it has to do with his mentor, Cole.

They sit in silence for a bit, the music has turned into something softer that he can identify as noise rock, it’s pleasant. More slate gray buildings roll by, lit up by outdated yellow street lights. Most of those have been phased out for more modern blue tinted ones. They were supposed to be calming to humans, mostly they just make things look flat and unreal.

Hank’s internal GPS alerts him that they’ve arrived at their location, another unassuming building, most of the windows are dark, but a center apartment on the third floor is still on. Connor’s eyes are fixed on it, so it must be his. As they ascend the stairs, Hank’s olfactory sensors alert him to the smell of decay, but Connor either doesn’t notice it, or it's normal.

Connor’s door has no markings on it, but by the side there is a little sliding plaque that identifies the resident and the apartment number. Connor’s name is missing its first letter, onnor. Terrible. Hank’s lips twitch slightly before he controls himself.

Connor opens the door with a terribly cheesy “Honey! I’m Home!” It elicits a throaty laugh from somewhere within the apartment. 

The hallway Connor leads him through is terribly cramped, but the floor is clean, more than he expected from seeing the detective’s car. The hallway opens up into a combination living room and kitchen, it’s sparsely furnished, a long couch facing the balcony, a bookshelf stuffed to the brim, and a coffee table that is so buried beneath paper that Hank can’t make out the edges. Honestly, he is mostly guessing it’s a table, the mess has started to spread into piles on the floor surrounding it. There are no nicotine stains on the walls, Connor smokes outside. The kitchen is tiny but fully featured, and the table by the side wall has enough space to seat two people on each end, it is currently seating one. Melissa.

She is a handsome human, slightly square jawed with curling brown hair, her features and skin color are southern Asian in nature, but with a slightly upturned nose. He scans her. Melissa, isn’t actually Melissa, she is Maliha Kumar, 30, employed as a civil administrator and known online as a gifted event coordinator, especially within the Asian community. Her latest arrangement was the opening of a community garden in a suburb outside Detroit.

She stands up as they come in and casts her arms around Connor. She’s shorter than him by quite a bit, around 5’4, he lifts her into the hug and swings her lightly back and forth, laughing pleasantly. They part and Connor blows a raspberry into the side of her face while she laughs. They make an adorable couple.

Connor slings an arm around Maliha and turns to Hank, “Melissa! This is Hank, my new partner, he’s fancy” Maliha elbows Connor in the side, but he was obviously expecting it and curves with the blow while letting out a ‘oof’ sound “So mean sweetheart” he says “Hank, this is my ex-wife Melissa, she is exactly as mean as she looks!”

Maliha doesn’t look mean at all, and she sticks out her hand for Hank to shake.

Hank grasps it solemnly “Thank God you divorced him Miss Kumar” Maliha’s laugh is more of a bark than anything else and it summons another bark from a bedroom door off opposite the windows. A shaggy looking German Sheppard lumbers into the living room. Connor immediately sinks to the floor and the dog clampers into his lap, it’s really too big for it, but neither owner nor dog seems to give a shit.

“Hank get down here, you like dogs right?”, Hank does like dogs. The dog is licking a long slobby stripe up Connor’s face, it makes some of his hair stick up a little, he doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes are eager and bright as Hank sits down cross legged in front of him. “Melissa darling, could you put on some coffee?” there’s a hum of agreement as Maliha goes to fiddle with the coffee maker. “Hank, this is Jerry lee!” the dog gives a little interested ‘boof’ at the mention of his name, Connor pushes the dog off of him and into Hank's lap, he has dog hair everywhere. 

Hank places his hands softy on Lee’s shaggy coat, before a small shudder of pleasure makes it though his chassis and he buries his hands into the fur. This is the first time he’s actually touched a dog, it is extremely pleasant, and soon the dog is firmly seated in his lap and giving him interested sniffs that transform into determined licks. 

There’s the sound of a phones artificially produced shutter noise, and Connor is winking at him from behind his phone, it’s uploaded to Connor’s twitter, it’s a cute picture, Jerry Lee licking his neck and Hank, closing his eyes with a pleasant smile on his face.

Hank’s never really looked at himself much, other than rudimentary overviews of his appearance in mirrors, he’s never looked that soft. It’s.. Nice, different. The picture is tagged #missuseofDPDresources #androidadorable and #puppies. Connor doesn’t have a lot of followers, it will probably stay in the department. 

The coffee maker gives a determined gurgle and it's enough to bring Connor out of twitter and back on his feet with a little spring. “Mali! You didn’t tell me you brought baked goods!” Connor is peering into a paper bag with some sort of logo on it that he got from the counter. Maliha shrugs “they were 50% off after hours, but I know you don’t mind, have you even eaten today?” the last line is delivered unjudgementally, just a soft question from a person who already knows the answer.

Connor doesn’t reply, just fiddles with the package and ducks his head, it's boyish, and more than a little charming, before dropping it on the table and serving the coffee. “Mali, did you drive here?” he asks.

“nope, taxi” she says.

“oh thank god” He fishes out a flask of bourbon from one of the kitchen cabinets, he drops in a shot in each cup without asking, but it’s apparently standard because Maliha grabs it greedily. Maliha’s cup is black, with large white flowers and a chip in the rim. Connor’s is blue, and carries the DPD logo, obviously lifted from the breakroom. 

As far as Hank can see he has quite a few in the cabinet. 

“Hank? Do you want some?” Connor asks, already two sips into his own mug, Maliha is digging out the pastries.

“I don’t drink Detective” Connor nods, and waves his hand towards the living room, does he want Hank to get out of the way while they talk? No, he opens his mouth again after biting into a Danish. “There’s a folding chair next to the bookshelf, go get it and sit down with us, its been quite a day for a new recruit!”

The Humans don’t talk while he gets the chair, either polite, or too busy eating to converse. But they both smile a him as he sits down. The chair protests a bit under his weight, but it holds. Jerry Lee settles his head on Hank’s thigh, meaningfully eyeing the table with the food, Hank places his hand on the dogs head instead, stroking it.

Maliha turns her attention to Hank, “new recruit? You don’t look like a spring chicken Hank”

Hank turns his head and meaningfully tabs his LED, Maliha’s mouth makes a little ‘O’ shape.

“you’re an android!?” she says half way between confusion and a smile.

“but you’re so.. old! why is that? Most androids look like they are in their mid-20’ies or something, but you, ah..”

Connor laughs “yea he looks like a really sad lumberjack”

Maliha grins “I don’t know! More like a bartender in a pub filled with the plus 40 crowd” 

“or a pitstop cook that only cooks bacon and eggs”

“if you kids are done making fun of me I could answer you?” Hank says, it apparently delights the humans before they calm down and wait patiently for his answer. 

“I was made to fit into the workforce, but also to command a certain amount of respect, and also to discourage the frequent property damage that my kind so often suffers when they try to do their assigned duties.” The humans mellow a little at that, it’s just a fact that androids suffer damage and, what can charitably be described as harassment. His appearance hasn’t stopped Detective Reed’s mouth, but nobody has gotten close to his person. Other than Connor.

“once a cashier asked me if Connor was my son” Maliha says teasingly, trying to lighten the mood.

“it was because I was holding corndogs, and to be fair I still looked 16 when I was with you” Connor says.

Hank flips through old department photos around the time Connor joined the DPD, yeah he looked like a freaking baby, why did they allow babies on the force. 

There is silence for a little bit, Maliha is watching him semi lazily, clearly tired from her own long workday. She’s business casual as befitting a small office, soft green sweater over her button-up. There’s a ring upon her finger, none on Connor’s. He searches for her marriage records, yes, she remarried, to a woman called Ju Lee. Connor is one of the best men in their wedding photo. His smile is wide, and he gazes adoringly at the newlyweds. 

They have one listed child, Kennet Kumar. He is 10 years old. Connor is listed as his biological father on the birth certificate. There is no shared custody. 

Maliha’s ring clinks on her mug as she sets it down, her face is turned back towards Connor. “Ken, got sent home again today” she says, conversationally. Connor’s shoulders have sunken down a bit from their usual ridged form, he’s leaning his head in his palm, elbow on the table and drinking while he listens. 

“what was it this time?” he asks, the question is lazy, they have had this conversation many times it seems.

“he smashed a mug on his math teacher”

“was he hurt?”

“no, he was fine, the teacher not so much, he got cut, and Kennet got sent home”

Connor fiddles with his mug, running a finger over the rim. “it’s the second time this month” he looks up, “has he gotten aggressive at home? With you?” Maliha shakes her head “no, he says nasty things sometimes, but all kids do that, I think Lee has it worse, she gets the brunt of it”

Maliha bites her lip, she looks, embarrassed. “she took away his playboy or whatever its called, the one you gave him” Connor’s fingers tighten on the mug “I thought we agreed that it wasn’t the solution to deprive him of stimulus” Maliha nods.

“when’s his next appointment?” Connor asks.

“Wednesday” she looks up “can you take him? I’m not free”

Connor nods, “yea sure sure, I’ll be there when he gets off” Maliha taps her mug “will you?” Connor pauses, then smiles, “of course I will Mali, don’t worry so much”

“say Hank, you got a calendar? Can you make a reminder for Wednesday? To pick up Kenny?” Hank nods, “already done Detective”.

Connor spreads his elbows a little, he doesn’t let go of his mug. “see Mali? Can’t forget if somebody is literally there to remind me” he leans over and touches her hand softly, just with the tips of his fingers. “I’ll be there” he says honestly. Maliha’s smile is a little tight around the corners, but it’s there.

They eat the rest of the food, Maliha stuffing an extra pastry in Connor’s face when he insists that he’s full. Hank sneaks a bit of it down to Jerry Lee, the dog has drooled a dark spot on his suit pants.  
Connor is getting Maliha’s coat as she leans over to Hank, “how long have you known him Hank?” she asks. “Sorry Mrs. Kumar, only a day” she nods and winks at him, “isn’t that enough?” she whispers. 

Hank doesn’t know how to answer that one, and Connor comes back with Maliha’s coat. The next 10 minutes are filled with goodbyes, ‘where’s my keys’ and ‘oh no the taxi!’. Connor walks Maliha down to the taxi, they hug, and Connor presses a hard kiss into her curly brown hair. Hank is watching them from the balcony and he’s headed back inside by the time Connor is done watching the taxi drive away.

 

Connor comes back up, what ever energy he had, has obviously been used up and the kid walks into the doorframe with a little thud. He doesn’t react, beyond rubbing his forehead a little pathetically. Hank saves the recoding to his personal archives. Connor vaguely staggers towards the kitchen. He pours another shot of bourbon into the remains of his coffee and slings it down with a slight grimace, he leans his ass against the counter and finally notices Hank watching him silently from the border between the living room and the kitchen.

His pale freckled hand is shaky as it drags his fingers across his mouth, rubbing slightly as if to bring back feeling into something numb. “so.. do you? You’re an Android, do you, sleep?”

Hank smiles a little, the kid is usually a whirlwind of confidence and curious crossing of whatever artificial personal border that Hank has, now when he’s down to his bones with nothing left, he sounds unsure and childish. “I’m an android Connor, I don’t sleep”

“oh” he says.

“But I would like an outlet if you can find one under all your garbage?”

Connor laughs, exhausted, but he drags him self away from the counter and into the living room.

“yea it’s a bit messy, sorry we aren’t all perfect miracles of engineering” Hank wishes he knew why there’s no bitterness in his words. The sentence and its words contain everything humans usually feel about androids, but all of the emotion behind it is missing, it’s just a light tease.

“I’m not perfect Connor, far from it” Hank smiles “I’m was designed by humans after all” 

Connor stops at the couch, digging his fingers into the back of it, before he turns back to Hank.

“Say, Hank. Tonight, in the attic. You were talking with that HK400, what was it saying?”

Hank shrugs simply “He was begging me not to alert you of his presence” Connor drums his fingers on the couch, “were you?” 

“were I what Connor?”

Connor lets out a little breathy sigh and lets go of the couch. He steps back towards Hank, he’s back in Hank’s personal space, he seems to like it there for some reason, he seems to like getting close to people, or is it just Hank? He grabs the edge of Hank’s jacket half way up his chest, rubbing the cloth between his fingers.

“were you going to turn it in?” Connor’s face is tipped up to him, their noses are almost touching, it is way too close for normal proper conversation, Hank doesn’t move.

Hank opens his mouth to give the standard answer, the correct one, the one that Cole would want him to give. But he doesn’t actually know, he had just tried to calm HK400, Annan, down, just tried to make him more stable. “of course I was. He was a deviant Detective”

“really? Cause you seemed, chummy, when I came up there” 

“androids don’t get chummy Detective, besides, he was a murder”

“self-defense Hank”

“that law only applies to humans Connor, we aren’t alive” Connor pats his chest, he seems disappointed. Hank wishes he knew what answer would have pleased him, so he could give it.

“lemme find that strip for you, so you can charge up”

Hank gets to watch him mess around under the couch, his butt flat on the ground and wiggling, it looks hilarious. But Connor comes back with a power strip, he and the strip are covered in dust bunnies. It’ll have to do.

“thanks” Hank says.

“Can’t have you running low on me” Connor grins “you make quite the partner Hank” Connor pats him on the cheek and leaves him by the couch with a ‘do whatever you wanna do tonight’.

Connor heads towards his bedroom, shedding his suit as he goes, Jerry Lee is following every step of the way, making Connor almost trip over him with every step he tries to take. The time is 03:43 AM, their shift starts at 09:00 AM, Detective Connor Anderson haven’t clocked in late in 4 years. The drive time to the station is 35 minutes not accounting for traffic. He adds another 30. 20 minutes to get out the door, though he doesn’t know Connors morning routine. Too many unknowns.

If Connor falls asleep immediately he will get around 3 hours and 52 minutes of sleep.

Hank doubts Connor is the kind for easy sleep, but hopefully exhaustion and the consumed alcohol will carry him through. 

Connor wanders back through the living room, he’s in black briefs and an oversized DPD sweatshirt, either he ordered it oversized or it’s someone else’s. Hank flicks through personal files for a fit, there’s quite a few, Michael down in the registry, Luther a large beat cop who’s mentioned a few times in some of Connor’s reports, two other cops that would match the size. Nothing conclusive. 

The whirring of Connors toothbrush stops, and he wanders yawning back out of the bathroom. He has toothpaste on his cheek, but Hank doesn’t bother telling him, doubts the kid understands human speech at the moment. He gets a mumbled goodnight tossed vaguely in his direction before he hears the sound of a body hitting something soft, it doesn’t sound like Connor bothered to draw up the covers. There’s the sound of a dog jumping and settling, seems Jerry joins Connor in his bed.

Hank sits on the couch a little bit, holding the power strip loosely in his hand. He doesn’t actually need to charge, there was no action today, though his lab and reconstuctions takes up quite a bit of power, he is still at 89%.

Sounds as good as an excuse to snoop as anything else.

 

Connor’s apartment is sparse in decoration, but not information. There may be no art on the walls, but the place is stuffed with papers, books and folders. Hank rubs his fingers lightly over a nearby paper, it is a financial statement from something called Fisher’s Trumpets. Hank wonders how it was obtained, there’s no log on the DPD servers that match the name, it must be some sort of personal project.

Hank enjoys the way physical paper feels under his hand, smooth and with a slight fine texture. It’s very pleasant. 

He turns his attention towards the bookshelf, it’s very large, taking up most of the wall, and scuffed. Like most of Connors furniture he suspects it of being second hand. Connor’s suit is a custom fit, and not the cheapest, there’s a distinct difference in where Connor applies his money, and his attentions. Sprucing up his apartment is not one of the places he uses his money or time.

He browses the shelves, there isn’t a lot of fiction, a few novels of the kind you pick up at airports. A few of them seem very outside what he suspects is Connor’s taste. Cheap romance novels, and a book with a horse and a girl on the cover. A brief search reveals that the girl wins the race in the end, and, gets a boyfriend. Riveting. And not exactly the kind of reading material he would pin on Connor.

The out of place novels, all seem to have been read once, and then stuffed among the hundreds of random manuals and very specific law books. A book that’s been opened and studied so many times that the title on the back is unreadable, turns out to be about trout fishing.

Connor does not seem like an outdoors man. Or a person who knows how to fish.

He runs his fingers along the shelves and finds a photo album stuffed in-between a book on knitting and a case study on a pedophile ring. The cover is a soft dark blue and carries no inscriptions. 

He flips it open and his lips stretches in a soft smile, baby photos, Christ. A chubby brown eyed child in a yellow baby bath, his face has that stunned baby look, like a star just exploded in front of his face. The mole pattern matches Connor’s.

He flips through Connor’s childhood, the baby Is soon joined by a copy of himself, but with blue eyes. They grow up before his eyes, two brothers, almost exactly alike in face.

There’s quite a few pictures of them lying in a pile on top of each other, Connor using his little brother as a pillow and with his hand buried in his hair. They seem content. 

They turn into 6 and 7 year olds with skinned knees and missing baby teeth, their arms slung companionable over each other shoulders. He flips the picture. Connor & Richard – Summer – 2017. There’s a lake somewhere in the background. He logs the picture in his memory.

Then teenagers, their smiles have gotten tighter, competitive. More separate photos, plenty of them together, but they show up alone more frequently as he goes on. The pictures stop around 2026, until the last one, of Richard in uniform. It’s from 2029, Richard would have been 18, he’s enlisting.

Hank scans the uniform and his face. He’s grown up now, lost most of the baby fat, more square than Connor, his eyes, sharper and direct. Hank doesn’t know if his smile is cruel or just confident. 

The uniform is for the US Airforce.

A quick look up of Richard Anderson gives him his current rank, he’s made Lieutenant in a stunningly short amount of time. 

He closes the album and wedges it back in with its questionable bedfellows. 

Connor’s parents didn’t show up in any of the photos, which doesn’t have to mean anything, other than it was a cherry-picked album about two siblings. 

He returns to browsing, there’s a dust pattern that stands out, most of the shelves have a light cover of dust, it’s different everywhere. Connor seems to devour a book or manual and then stuff it aside, never to be brought forwards again. But there’s a certain shelf, at eye height, that has almost no dust. The titles don’t stand out in any way, they are similar to the rest. 

He pulls out the suspicious group one by one, flips through them, nothing, no compartments, no cut out pages. He’s about to return them when he tilts his head enough for the light from the kitchen to catch on a slight edge. The shelf has a fake panel. 

He places the books on the ground in a pile and runs his fingers lightly along the back until they catch.

It’s a simple push release and the compartment opens up.

He stops and places the panel on the floor. The compartment is filled with small plastic bags inside larger ones, and pills, around 15. Small, white, and round. A stash. Something settles inside him, a little ‘aha’, a missing piece of the puzzle slots into place, and completes the picture.

Of course. 

He opens one of the bags, doesn’t bother with the pills themselves. He doesn’t need that much to sample, it’s enough to swipe his fingers on the inside of the bag and press the digits to his tongue. 

He pulls them away, analysis complete.

Methamphetamines. 

He’s jerked out of the investigation by the dull sound of a sharp ankle hitting wood. Connor is in the doorway to his bedroom, his arms are folded, his face, blank and observing. He’s been standing there for a while, Hank didn’t notice, too busy snooping into his partners personal life. 

He slowly puts the bag down back on the shelf, doesn’t put it away, what’s the point. 

Connor swings away from the doorway in a leisurely but inelegant way, he’s crossing the wooden floor towards Hank, soft and unhurried. Hank can read nothing on his face.

Connors slim little hand closes over his own the one still holding onto the bag, it’s very strong. 

Hank is an android, and superior in every way, but if this turns into a fight, he won’t come away undamaged. Connor might be kind, might ask Hank’s opinions on music, and let him pet his dog. But he has shot 3 people in the line of service, and Hank has no doubt that he would shoot Hank if it meant keeping his job. And there’s no way in hell he wants to actually hurt Connor.

Connor slowly and softly pry Hank’s fingers lose from the bag, Hank watches as he puts the pills away, and secures the panel. Hank hasn’t moved, Connor has simply sneaked his form in between Hank and the shelf, every time he moves his body brushes against Hank’s. It feels like fire along his synthetic synapses. “hand me the books Hank?” he says, he has his light smile on, a soft lift in his voice, like he’s asking Hank his opinion on his desk cactus, and not for Hank to cover up what ever the fuck this mess is. 

Hank does, bends at the knees, and holds the pile while Connor puts them in, in the correct order.

When he’s finished he rests his hands on the spines of the books, before he turns.

“tell me Hank” he whispers, “what do you want to do” Hanks programming stutters, I don’t want anything, I’m a machine, I can’t want anything.

[‘*REPORT ILLIGAL DRUG ACTIVITY*’]

Red flickers in his vision, a cascade of errors, all covering Connors soft expectant face.

I want

I want to help you

I want to fix this

I want to not have to report this and ruin your fucking life.

There are hands on his face, firmly dragging him back, dragging away the red until all he can pay attention to is deep brown. 

“Hank are you alright?” Connors eyebrows are curled down in a concerned frown, his thumbs are running small circles on Hank’s cheek bones. Hank’s mouth moves but makes no sound. Connor continues rubbing circles, then he leans up and presses a soft kiss to the side of Hank’s mouth. Hank’s entire body shakes, once.

Then his arms move, sweeping around Connor, pulling him closer, and into a crushing hug. 

He needs something physical, something real, something not whatever the fuck that red hellscape was. 

Connor’s body is firm, wiry and warm. His sweatshirt is bunching under Hank’s hands and he can feel Connor’s hands fisting in his jacket. “What ever you want to do Hank, it’s okay” Connor says softly.

Hank doesn’t know what he wants, and he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. Whatever that was, it’s dangerous. 

But a new objective firms up in his vision. 

[‘*Don’t Tell Cole*’]

**Author's Note:**

> Helped along by my astounding Beta, River.
> 
> Connor was listening to [Coditany of Timeness](https://dadabots.bandcamp.com/album/coditany-of-timeness) which is an album by DADABOTS, a death metal neural network!
> 
> The name of Connor's dog, Jerry Lee, was inspired by [this](https://androidposting.tumblr.com/post/176609437372/maybe-she-wont-human-connor-hes-one-of-the) tumblr post. Which also has a quite attractive edit of human!connor.
> 
> Anything you comment is enshrined forever in my memory with a gold glitter pen. Thank you for reading!
> 
> Next time? Reed!


End file.
